


and someday you will find me

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, after a long day, Louis will sit down next to Zayn and ask him, "What are we today?"</p><p>The answer's different every time, but Louis and Zayn are together in all of them.</p><p>(or: louis and zayn contemplate how they would have met if it wasn't for one direction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and someday you will find me

**Author's Note:**

> ????????????? i'm not sure what this is. it's short (pretty much drabble length) and it's louis/zayn which is something i've wanted to write for ages but never could figure out, not really. let's pretend that eleanor/perrie don't exist in this verson of reality because this way i don't have to deal with infidelity issues, o k
> 
> based on [these tags](http://otfivedirection.tumblr.com/post/40233433345/q-if-you-could-do-one-thing-besides-singing-or).

“Tell me a story, Zayn,” Louis will say, on the balcony of their hotel, Zayn leaning out to take long, slow drags of his cigarettes.

These moments are just for them, away from the chaos that is their life. It’s not that they don’t appreciate sold-out tours and screaming fans, but. The thing is, they work twenty-two hour days sometimes, and it’s hard not to be tired at the end of a day that long. 

“What kind of story?” Zayn asks, stubbing his cigarette out and turning to where Louis is curled on the armchair outside, knees in sweatpants tucked against his chest. Louis always makes himself as small as possible when he’s not touching the boys or in public, and he sometimes reminds Zayn of a cold kitten, needing affection. It’s a fair enough comparison, really, because the last time Zayn curled against him and nuzzled into his shoulder, Louis definitely purred. (He’s denied it ever since, but Zayn knows better.)

“Mmm,” Louis says, contemplating. “Tell me about what would have happened if we were never in the band, but you and me knew each other anyway.”

Louis has never said that he believes in fate, but Zayn can tell he does. Zayn picks up all of Louis’ clues, when he feels like his harmonies are off and starts believing the shitty things people say about him online, when people that claim to be his fans tweet him and say stuff that no decent person ever would, and when he’s just _tired_  and wants to pretend that he’s someone else, although he’d never give it up.

Zayn thinks. He’s always wanted to be an artist, secretly, and so he says, “We’re artists. I illustrate comic books, and you paint.” 

“Always liked art at school,” Louis says, “Was totally rubbish at it, though. What do I paint?” 

Louis has a knack for capturing the detail in things, for pointing out parts of the world that the rest of them might miss. He’s like Zayn in that. He’s like Zayn in a lot of things, really, and Zayn idly traces the bird on his wrist. _Birds of a feather flock together,_ he thinks, eyeing Louis’ own tattoo. 

“You like the landscape, but you’re kind of abstract about it. You pick up the things that nobody else really gets, stupid stuff like birds nests in trees or, dunno, water pipes running down the sides of houses. Sometimes you do like, sketches of people, but you’re always too worried you won’t get them absolutely right and you give up halfway through,” Zayn pauses, gathering his thoughts. “You like people watching, spend a lot of time sitting in cafés so you can get inspiration, but you like drawing the people you know best.”

Louis looks quiet, contemplative. Zayn wonders what the world would think if they saw this side of him, his public facade dropped for this beautiful, secretly introspective boy. “I like that,” he finally says. “Maybe we live in like. Paris? Dunno if that’s too cliché and all, but I like the idea.”

“City of love,” Zayn smiles, and sits down next to Louis, tucking him under his arm and slinging his legs over Louis’. Sometimes he’s concerned by the way that something seems to fall into place when they touch (not just him and Louis, really. It works for any of the boys), the way he feels like he’s found something that he never knew he was missing. “Sounds alright to me.”

Louis smiles, and tilts his head so he can kiss Zayn, kitten nipping at his lower lip. Zayn licks into Louis’ mouth, knowing he tastes like cigarettes and the pizza they ate earlier, knowing that Louis doesn’t mind. Louis always has his own taste, some ridiculous mixture of honey and mint that shouldn’t work, but it does. They kiss for a while, Zayn half on Louis’ lap, slow and easy. It’s not really going anywhere, but neither of them mind.

 

From then on, it becomes a thing. If they’ve had a really long day, or paps have been shitty, or Louis has spent too much time reading what people say about him, he’ll come to Zayn. It’s almost an unspoken agreement, but Louis usually asks. 

“What are we today, Zayn?” He’ll say, from a spot on the tourbus or Zayn’s bed in a hotel room or backstage before a concert. 

The answer’s different every time. Once, they’re astronauts that campaign to turn Pluto back into an official planet, because at the bungalow, Louis had raged about it for about fifteen minutes while drunk off cheap wine, and they’d all indulged him, smiling fondly to one another. Another time, they design video games together, and write in their own team of superheros. (In that story, there’s five of them, and they’re put together as a team at an elite school for those with powers. None of them know each other, but two meet in the bathroom and it doesn’t take long for the rest to feel like brothers.)

It’s like the scenarios are endless, and sometimes Zayn gasps them out while Louis mouths at his cock, smirking up at him and pulling off with a grumpy pout every time he stops speaking, although that’s hardly fair because _Louis has his mouth around his fucking dick_. A particularly memorable story is the one where they’re pornstars and Louis has the best ass in the business and Zayn keeps getting matched up with him, but neither of them particularly mind. 

“Do you think that one of these could’ve come true, if we hadn’t gotten through X Factor?” Louis asks one day, watching the American landscape roll past from the couch on the tourbus. “Like, would we have met each other anyway?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, without having to think about it. There’s a reason that it feels like coming home every time he slots into the arms of any of his boys. “I think we would’ve.” 

And Zayn’s never thought of himself a big believer in fate, not really, but he keeps making up stories about himself and Louis in other universes. He hopes that at least some of them are true.


End file.
